


a kicked dog still bites.

by waterdeaths



Series: born to a childless age [2]
Category: Naruto
Genre: Gen, Haku is a sweetheart but he's still a Kiri shinobi through and through, political prisoner
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-06
Updated: 2018-12-06
Packaged: 2019-09-12 13:41:08
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 685
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16873920
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/waterdeaths/pseuds/waterdeaths
Summary: Yamato is assigned surveillance duty, and he’s 100% the next six months are about to be cold and miserable.





	a kicked dog still bites.

Yamato’s first thought is that the boy is too small for fifteen, too small and warped and weathered for his age, years of poverty and living like a fugitives making his already large brown eyes doe-like in that empty face. Looking at him with his knees hugged to his chest, curled in the corner of his cell — it’s like looking into a mirror and seeing his child-self, so wary and small, like an animal hiding from the rain.

“Don’t let the face fool you,” the chunin on guard mutters darkly as he rattles the cage bars with his baton, “He’s a Kiri-dog through and through, and a Kiri-dog always bites. Almost lost three of my toes to frostbite. Three. Looks like an angel, but that’s that Demon’s shadow — ”

“Momochi Zabuza.” Yamato interrupts, cutting the chunin off curtly. He’d read the mission file twice, scanning for missing details. Momochi Zabuza: former Mist ANBU, member of the Seven Legendary Swordsman, and purveyor of tyrannicide. Renegade revolutionary killed by Hatake Kakashi. And, according to the scant information Kirigakure was willing to part with, the registered owner of one ninja tool — Yuki Haku, last known survivor of the Yuki clan, otherwise known as The Demon’s Shadow.

Otherwise known as Yamato’s latest mission.

“Unlock the door. I’ll handle him from here.” Yamato says, voice neutral and authoritative despite the sick feeling that roils in his gut when Haku finally moves, chin tilting up to meet him with a cold, flat glare. The deja vu is deafening. The chunin visibly balks, but he obeys, shooting the boy a final dark look as the door creaks open and Yamato steps inside, arms crossed. “Yuki Haku, formerly of Kirigakure. You are now a probationary ward of Konohagakure and under my surveillance until the Council has considered your case.”

Haku slowly unfolds himself, uncovering the swollen canvas of his neck and sternum, heavy and dark and crusted with blood like a cluster of overripe grapes. He does not stand, merely tips his head back until it rests against the cell wall, availing a full view of his mottled neck, the raikiri burns lancing across his bandaged sternum, puffy collarbone, the left side of his throat and chin. His smile is a terrible thing, wan and with too many teeth. “You mean until they decide what to do with me,” he says softly, voice lined with cruelty and thick with flesh. “Until they decide whether they want to kill me, or sell me, or leverage me for political favors.” When the boy breathes, his breath is hemmed with frost. Yamato exhales slowly. The room temperature has been steadily decreasing since he entered; now it’s plummeted. It’s a remarkable attempt at a power-play for someone with his arms cuffed behind his back with chakra-stopping talismans. A combination of intense secrecy and subsequent genocide meant not much is known of the Yuki clan’s abilities. He has a bad feeling he’ll end up finding out the hard way.

He’d once overheard someone tell a joke about Kiri nin. “What do you call a group of Kiri’s?” He’d once overheard someone say. Try as he might, though, he can’t remember the punchline.

“Whatever they decide, you are in my care now.” Yamato says carefully, willing his teeth not to chatter. The chunin’s statement had been crude and derogatory, but looking at the way Haku watches him now, lips pulled back in a silent snarl, eyes fixed on him, waiting for a wrong move, a display of weakness — this is a wolf’s gaze fixated on his throat, the temperature drop and flecks of frost falling from the ceiling but another pace in this circling between canines, this hierarchy of wills. Suddenly he remembers.

Oh, right, he thinks, as Haku slowly climbs to his feet, the muddled flesh and black matted hair falling into his red-rimmed, bloodshot eyes turning him into something born from myth or torn out of a folktale, An ambush. A group of Kiri nin is called an ambush.

Haku follows him out of the cage like a shadow clings to crow’s wings: darkly, and full of death.


End file.
